Shades of the Sun
by nightwriter1012
Summary: Exiled from his own home because of his lustful tendencies, a sixteen-year-old Oberyn Martell is sent into temporary exile across the Narrow Sea. The Free Cities of Essos hold various cultures to experience and new people to meet who in later years will have a role in Westerosi history and eventually shape the person who has come to be known as the Red Viper of Dorne.
1. First Light

**Writer's note: **Probably who I've found to be one of the most fascinating and exciting (and kinda badass) characters in the ASOIAF books described in barely a few paragraphs and who appeared in only a couple of chapters. I've decided to write out his story before the events in the books, of his many travels throughout Essos after being forced into an alleged exile to explore the lands across the Narrow Sea. It starts with his first stop in Oldtown from which he travels to Lys and then to rest of the Free Cities where he will meet characters fans of the series might be familiar with. The story is mostly canon and will depict events from 274 A.L. – 280 A.L., undecided on how many chapters.

**Chapter 1: First Light**

(274 A.L.)

The way to Oldtown was short but treacherous throughout the varied land of sandy paths and stone roads winding their way through the Prince's Pass with the Red Mountains looming on both sides. They were few in numbers, a small company of thirteen joining Oberyn Martell on his journey out of Dorne though only two would truly remain at his side when he sailed for the Free Cities. An exile they called it even if his older brother Doran told him otherwise. _It was for the good of House Martell_, he said, _to appease their allies of centuries for the insult brought to them_. Lord Edgar Yronwood was a liege lord to the rulers of Dorne, a man who stood taller than most and twice their size in girth, with a fierce reputation and a short fuse of a temper. It had not bode well on him when his paramour had been found abed with Oberyn and immediately challenged the second son of Dorne to a duel. It did not end in his favor.

Both endured cuts, but the fight stopped when the Lord's pride was satisfied and no death ensued from the duel of honor. At the very least, no immediate death. The Prince's wounds had healed but Lord Yronwood's had festered horribly and painfully, burning away at him until he passed on and rumors arose. _Poison on the blade_, they whispered. Rumors on how Oberyn embed liquid death on his sword began to spread, intent on killing his challenger with it and so had succeeded. The Red Viper of Dorne was now a name they called him. House Yronwood was enraged, calling for justice to the Martells for this trickery and to soothe their pride, Doran had to promise payment. He sent his son Quentyn to be fostered at Yronwood in show of good faith and sent his younger brother in exile yet he called it a temporary departure. Oberyn did not protest, but only offered that if Lord Edgar had had the courtesy to announce his presence before bursting into his chambers, perhaps he would have not found the Prince still abed with his young paramour and thus still be alive. _Lack of courtesy killed the man, not poison_, Oberyn insisted. The remark was not well received.

From astride his horse, Oberyn's black eyes looked forward as him and his small party were approaching Oldtown after four days worth of travel. He could see Hightower clearly now, the massive lighthouse standing far above any other structure even from the distance. Winter has come with its snows and cold winds, but the southern lands always stood as the least affected. The sun was milder and the breezes still weak. The further south they rode, the better he could smell the salty air of the Sunset Sea on the wind. It brought a fleeting comfort of home, of the place he would soon be leaving. Oldtown carried the scent in abundance and it only grew more poignant when the fourteen riders passed through its gates. It was a city of narrow canals and twisting rivers, bridges gapping the spaces in between the cobbled streets and high stone mansions edged along the banks. Its beauty was not new to him so he spent little time taking it in as they made their way through the labyrinth of stone and water.

"I have spoken to a trading galley's captain and arranged for a ship to be in port waiting for you, my lord."One of the guard addressed him, a burly man with full armor on as if they were going in battle. It made the most irritating clink and clatter of steel Oberyn had ever endured for three days straight at every move. "I was assured your journey will be of the utmost privacy and your name of secrecy. Your brother believed it would be best to move on with caution and not have anyone know of your intention. Ship captains are often not the most trustworthy sort and will bargain for their last breath if they could."

"You would be foolish to believe we can go unnoticed in this city. Your plan of disguise has failed since Horn Hill." Oberyn smirked faintly after he spoke, glancing at the nine horsemen approaching his party. Eight of them were armored knights with the sigil of House Hightower embed on their chest, a lonely white tower on a field of grey and a red flame at the top. Lord Leyton Hightower was at the head of the riders, brown-haired and brown-eyed with a hint of a stubble on his chin. He seemed a plain man to Oberyn's eyes.

"Prince Oberyn, I expected you would be arriving to Oldtown's port soon enough. Your brother has always been a cautious man." The Voice of Oldtown spoke as he reined his horse to a stop.

"You may call him 'predictable' freely, I'll take no offense. Did my brother send you to make sure I will reach port instead of venturing through brothels?"

"I simply thought it a courtesy to escort you. The city has been known to confuse travelers who do not know their way around the safe paths. Men have lost more than their coin passing through the Thieves' Market."

The second son of Dorne glimpsed at the man of his guard with a smug look before he rode forward, allowing the party of Hightower guards lead the way with Lord Leyton riding next to him. "I trust that is true. I've been to Oldtown before and left with little of my coin. A whore named Mara had more success in relieving me of it than thieves, so I would say it's the pleasure houses you should to be warning of." Oberyn said as they rode through the narrow streets and over short bridges.

"I will consider your advice, my lord. I remember the last time you've passed through the city with your lady mother and sister, heading for Casterly Rock. The Lannisters must have been a disappointment given that I heard of no betrothals between the Lion and Sun."

"The Lion wants fire, not heat, even if his receiving of us was as cold as the Wall itself." He would say no more of that as he was in no mood to speak about the useless ride he had taken to the Westerlands with Elia and their mother.

"You might have to forgive Lord Tywin. His lady wife had just passed on and his children were all that remained of her. It's a great responsibility to choose whom you entrust them with and I am speaking as a man who failed in that respect. I have made a mistake I cannot take back and now I can do nothing to fix it." Lord Leyton looked in distress for a flash of a second, a slight downturn of his lips and tightening of his hands around the reins proving it to Oberyn's eyes. He knew the man had daughters, some of which must have taken more after their mother as they were quite comely. However, he couldn't be said to give importance to the fate of one of Lord Hightower's children so he asked no more of it. The sun was setting and he was bound to be out of Westeros by the next day's first light.

They rode through the city of cobble stone pavements and narrow streets until they reached the famous harbor of Oldtown. Hundreds of ships lined the docks and further out into the sea, painting the horizon in the various colors of their sails. They crowded around the harbor, trading galleys from all over the Free Cities and the Summer Isles, all shapes and sizes with intricate carvings into the wood and strange statues whittled into their hull serving as figureheads. The harbor was bursting of life, but Oberyn decided it could have smelled better. The Lord Hightower left him with his company of thirteen and they rode among the crowd until they found the ship meant to sail him to the Free Cities, a trading galley of worn state with dark purple sails and small dents into its curved edges, likely made by knives and arrows. What drew his attention more was the golden hints streaked across the wood which upon further inspection showed no trace of being painted on. The wood itself was of golden color though no tree he had ever heard of made such a thing possible. He dismounted so he could take a closer look.

"Are you admiring my ship or planning to steal it? Men have tried to carve into the wood for the gold they wager is inside and only ended with their eyes carved out instead. Yours could continue the collection." The voice of a woman spoke out over the indiscernible chatter of voices, making his black eyes look up to its source. A tall, dark-haired young woman stood there with an eyebrow perked waiting for his answer with an impatience as if his fate depended on it. A Summer Islander, he guessed in a moment, with ebony skin, deep brown eyes and full lips to top off her hard features into an exotic beauty. Her garb was nothing like a lady from the Seven Kingdoms would wear, with worn leather boots, breeches, belt and a loose cotton white shirt with its sleeves folded up. Modest at first sight, but he could see how the shirt was cut down the middle to nearly the center of her chest, showing only the supple curves of her neck and bits of her shoulders, taunting as if it would only take a strong breeze to leave her bare. A hint of a smirk showed around the corners of his mouth at the thought.

"Only admiring. My eyes have sights left to see and I have room ready for me on your ship already paid for. Though I suspect the captain's quarters would be of greater comfort."

He watched as she weighed his words with another perk of her slender brow before she smiled a devious smile as he had ever seen. "Depends on how you would rate comfort with a dagger against your throat."

"Now that would be one of the sights I have left to see." The second son of Dorne walked further up the wooden platform until he stepped onto the ship and glanced around at the crew of mostly men getting it ready to set sail. He was supposed to be a commoner, unknown of identity to anyone else but those he brought with him. His name and family were to be kept to himself. "Name's Etain Sand and my two companions are Gilas Dalt and Lutor Naldyniss, a maester of the citadel. I've been told I have a voyage across the Narrow Sea arranged for the three of us, one of which assured me he has already paid. The man fully clad in armor and as dull as a wooden blade. Perhaps you remember him."

"Aye, he paid in Stags and wine." she agreed with a stern nod.

"An honest merchant. Interesting." he mused in thinking she could have denied ever receiving payment. "I now have one less sight left to see thanks to you, captain. I'm quickly finding myself in your debt." A faint smirk edged on the corners of his mouth as he caught her eyes looking over his features. Like his sister Elia, Oberyn shared traits with their mother. He had a handsome face with sharp features and jet black eyes, dark short hair to match, a lean built and near olive skin shaded by the sun of Dorne. His jaw was well defined and narrow, clean shaven and thin eyebrows that only drew more attention to his eyes, deep and determined.

The company of thirteen broke onto the shore, loading what little he had brought with him before the two men assigned to leave with him boarded as well. The Summer Islander returned to her wicked smile before she spoke. "Captain Ila Xsys. We set sail and my word is your god, adhered to and feared."

"Adhered to." he agreed.

A slight perk of an eyebrow greeted him again. "And feared."

"I'm afraid not. Perhaps that counts as fear?"

"Not quite, but it's close enough for a start. I'll judge how you listen to commands first."

"Poorly." A nearly proud smirk showed over his features as it was very well true. Oberyn was quite incapable of listening to orders barked out at him, more so than most of noble birth. For the voyage, at least, he would have to adjust and attempt at seeming like a lowborn.

She took on an amused look that she tried to conceal with a cross of her arms, but he could see it in the corners of her brown eyes and soft curve of her full lips. "Very well. I'll see how you handle directions first. I trust you can find the captain's quarters on your own." she said before unfurling her arms from under her chest. "Welcome to the _Feathered Kiss_, Prince Oberyn." Her voice trailed with a smug, knowing last glance at him before she walked away and across the deck to tend to her ship. In those few moments his expression remained impassive, giving nothing away, though it faltered a split second after she left with a slight narrow of his brow at her knowledge of his real name and true identity. _So much of a secret_, he thought to himself and looked out toward Oldtown.

For a long time, this would be his last glimpse of Westeros, a harbor full of drunken men, sailors, smugglers, whores and thieves, but the Hightower stood tall and watchful over it all. The sails will rise and they would depart for Essos. He would not see his family, not his brother Doran nor his beloved sister Elia, and he would venture into a foreign land with strange cultures, unknown people and different gods. And he was not afraid.

5


	2. Spark of Exile

**Chapter 2: Spark of Exile**

(274 A.L.)

"If I didn't know better, Ser Gilas, I would say you're rather enjoying this." Oberyn said as he rubbed the side of his arm where the wooden broomtail had hit him. Another blow came his way but this time he deflected the strike and stepped out of the way of another quickly coming in succession. Ser Gilas Dalt was a burly man, eight and thirty, a salty Dornishman with olive skin and dark hair always clad in steel armor with a domed forehead and full lips that he had yet to turn into anything resembling a proper facial expression. Only a few hints of a frown or a grimace at times. The man struck at him again, Oberyn blocked but another followed too close and it hit him straight onto his shoulder. The second son of Dorne grunted in pain and he took a step back to speak before he was bludgeoned on again. "Is that a smile I see?" The man hadn't smiled since they left Oldtown and he wasn't doing it now either. Oberyn had the impression that the muscles in his face were simply paralyzed. Perhaps they could be fixed once they reached Lys.

The journey was in its last few days. That was good news as their supplies were growing meager and routine never settled well with him. He had a tendency of quickly growing bored and the constant rocking of the ship with little but the vast waters of the Summer Sea on either side. Even now, they were practicing sword fight on top of the deck with two tails of broken old brooms as they had no such thing as blunt blades on board. The crew of the _Feathered Kiss_ sometimes stopped to look, but even they had grown tired of watching after a while. Ser Gilas, however, was very intent on their training and would not let a day pass where the young Martell wouldn't practice. The large Dornishman swung toward Oberyn's head, but he ducked and succeeded a hit on Ser Gilas' forearm to stop a second attack. "You're quick, I'll give you that." said the older man.

"Speed defeats strength." Oberyn replied, attempting another blow at his opponent's side. It landed, but Gilas countered it quickly with another hit.

"Rats are quick too, that does not make them dangerous opponets."

"But vipers do." his answer came in quickly with a smug smirk. If the reputation was already starting to build, he might as well milk it for all it was worth. The clash of wooden sticks sounded hard even throughout the chatter of sailors and sounds of the waves crashing against the ship's hull. Oberyn made another quick strike toward Gilas' thigh but he was caught on the wrong side and saw a swift blow aiming for his head. He changed his grip on the broomtail to block and then stabbed the dull wooden end into the knight's stomach. The older man grunted and took a step back.

"You would've cut off your fingers by now were it a sword. You're holding the blade like an old man's staff." the man scolded as he rubbed at the forming soreness on his stomach.

"Like a spear." Any more replies stopped as a shout from the crow's nest had all of them looking east to an approaching ship. The crew stopped, tensing at the sight, waiting for its sails to come into their view. There were dangers lurking about among the vast seas, pirates, slavers, pillagers and even daring ships of the Iron Islands travelling this far in their thirst for plunder.

"The Black Betha! Prepare the gangplank!" Ila shouted from above at the helm. The men sat at ease upon her words and went about their business instead of reaching for weapons as he had expected. Oberyn looked over the edge but could not recognize the sails of the approaching ship. He tossed the broomtail to Gilas, ending their training for the day and waiting until the two galleys approached each other. When they did, a connecting plank was set down and a man stepped across it to meet Ila on the other end. His eyes and hair were brown alike, neither particularly strong of build nor comely of face, but he had an amicable look as he stepped toward the Summer Islander like an old friend. For a while, Oberyn could not hear what they were speaking, but eventually strode forward with quiet indignance in his step.

"… silks and Dornish wine. Lys can never have too much of either." Ila was saying to the man. "Tell me news of the Free Cities."

"The Dothraki pillage inland. Ships from Slaver's Bay stalk the waters more oft now than I have ever seen." said the ship's captain with a frown forming in between his brows. "Best to keep out of their range. Where are you headed?"

"Lys."

A frown showed over his features. "War is still being fought over the Disputed Lands."

"I should think so. Otherwise they would've been very poorly named." Oberyn interjected as his steps carried him across the wooden deck toward the two captains. Ila looked at him over her shoulder as if she wished he had not spoken, but she didn't dare voice out her protest to his interfering remark. No matter what happened between the sheets of her quarters, he was still a prince and she was merely a galley's captain. With bruises and dirty clothes, Oberyn looked very little the part of a lord, but a flicker of recognition sparked in the other man's eyes.

"My lord." he said respectfully and bowed his head little.

"You recognize me?"

"I do, my lord. I was in Sunspear on your brother's twenty-third nameday. He's a cautious man, your brother. Wise and careful. He will make a good lord over Dorne one day. I saw you and your sister Elia as well."

"A better sight, I'm sure."

Ila saw the hint of humility on the smuggler's face so she took up the reply for him. "Lord Oberyn, this is Davos Seaworth, captain of the Black Betha." A trading galley captain was the title most took for themselves so they could remain inside the King's law, but he knew a smuggler when he saw one and the sight of his ship.

The Dornish man nodded, but Davos spoke next. "I heard of your exile, my lord. If I may warn, Lys is dangerous place to start. Men disappear and most oft are not found but dead in the gutters of brothels or tossed into the sea. Pentos might be safer."

"I can handle pleasure houses and perfumed merchants. I have had my share of both."

"With all respect, my lord, these are not the Westerosi whores you might've known nor the honor bound men to the realm. They can be vicious and cutthroat faster than a man can imagine."

"So are the Dornish." Since the Rhoynish set roots in Dorne, they were set apart from the rest of Westeros, their culture, traditions and people all different from the sun in their skin and the warmth in their veins. Their tempers were hotter and their lusts burned brighter.

The gangplank was retracted and the _Black Betha_ sailed toward Oldtwon while the _Feathered Kiss_ travelled its last days to the rocky cliffs of Lys. There were the last few training sessions with Gilas in the morning, lessons in High Valyrian with Maester Lutor during midday, an old Pentosi man who had been sent with him for the sake of teaching the young prince the dialects of the Free Cities, and nights within the captain's quarters. He ended the day full of bruises and then Ila left him more pleasurably sore come morning.

The sun was up when they reached Lys, its port by far smaller than Oldtown's but equally full of ships trading wine and fabrics and goods from the Western lands. He could see the colored beards and hair of the Free Cities, red and purple, green and blue, jewels on their fingers or pierced through their faces, long cooling silk robes and weapons embed with gold. The Lyseni were easy to distinguish with their bright blue eyes, smooth fair skin and pale blond hair that most of them kept curled. Oberyn stood in stark contrast to them all with his dark complexion, black eyes and short dark hair.

He stepped off the _Feathered Kiss_ with Ser Gilas, Maester Lutor, Ila and a few of her crew already scattering about the docks and markets in search to trade their goods. There were stands everywhere, colored bottles of various liquids, odd types of fishes that he could not name, live snakes and lizards for sell to eat or to use in mummers play, spices of all colors and tastes, perfumes that could make a man's eyes water or set fire to his senses, wine and tapestries and many others. Behind them all stood solid buildings painted in orange, yellow, blue or, most of them, red. Their roofs were either slanted or curved to stave off the rain when it fell, the windows tall and narrow so the sun could slip in, full of small balconies with one or more scantily clad women gesturing or calling out to eager men on the streets below.

"Careful with your coin here." Ila said. "Once you run out of gold, there are other things that are free you can get without wishing for them. Tears of Lys slipped into your drink will lead to a short, painful passing when there's nothing else you offer."

"Losing his coin won't be a problem as much as giving it away." Gilas replied and looked at the brothels.

"Careful with your words, Ser Gilas. I may be exiled but I'm still your lord. If you insist on being dull and reproachful, you must be courteous about it. It might challenge your wit at least a little." The Red Viper set his eyes on a few choice bottles displayed on one of the stands, the man standing behind it speaking in Valyrian and likely praising their content. He watched the swirling red liquid inside before he heard a commotion in the crowd.

"We guard the way!" A man charged him with a shout, no time for reply before he pushed the Dornishman into a stand of crates, falling into a mess of wooden edges and heavy weights falling on him. He could feel some of them hitting already made bruises on his body as his back flattened against the ground and heard shouting around him.

"Get these things off me!" A mess of wooden crates piled up on him and he pushed them off himself with an angry force, looking for his attacker. "I'll carve his fucking eyes out!"

"My lord, don't move!"

Oberyn looked up from his place on the ground and saw a pair of yellow, unmoving eyes staring at him. Dark, quiet sternness in the black slits within its orbs and testing quick in every flicker of its forked tongue. The snake stared at him, coiled and waiting. He saw its head move and every muscle in its long body tense, curled and ready. The sun shone bright on its red scales, burning like scalding iron bright with flame. His hand moved slowly toward the dagger at his hilt but it didn't go unnoticed. The snake shifted and Oberyn paused, both looking for a movement that would end either of their lives.

Gilas kicked up dirt and moved abruptly, drawing the snake's attention away, sword ready to move should it decide to attack. A split of a moment was all that was needed, one of them turning their eyes away. The dagger buried through the snakes head and into the ground below, its tail coiling, flicking and snapping in its last moments of life as it realized it had lost its fight. Oberyn twisted the knife and got another quiet hiss before his attacker fell dead. The Red Viper stood up menacingly with the snake hanging on the tip of his dagger. "Where is he?!"

"He escaped, my lord. We will find him, I assure you."

When he looked toward Gilas, he saw he was no longer standing but kneeling on the dirty ground, his arm cradling the head of an unmoving body. Ila laid on the ground, eyes absent and gasping for breath. "The bottle you held, my lord. After you were attacked, it dropped next to her and released red smoke. She fell within seconds."

Oberyn looked at the alchemist staring wide-eyed from his stand, grabbing the man by the collar and pointing the dead snake to his face, a bloodied tip of a dagger an inch from his face. "Maester Lutor, ask this man what was in that bottle and how do we cure it." The old maester did as he was bid and the alchemist replied in panic, waving his hands.

"He says it's Red Taint and most men use it for rituals to paralyze their slaves. He doesn't know how to cure it." The man was speaking frantically.

Oberyn frowned and shoved the tip of his dagger into the man's neck just enough to draw blood. "Ask him again and make sure to mention I will shove the dead snake down his throat and the blade that comes with it." It was did as bid and he could see the alchemist struggling in sheer panic.

"He says he does not know. He only sells the poison to warlocks."

"Fine. It seems we have a warlock to find." The Red Viper shoved the man to the ground and tossed the dead snake to him, placing his dagger back in its hilt. "Get her back to her ship. We won't be sailing anytime soon." The crowd around them was ignored as Gilas hoisted the Summer Islander captain in his arms and carried her down the docks back to the _Feathered Kiss_.

"It seems your enemies are ahead. Have you heard his shout, my lord?" Maester Lutor asked and Oberyn nodded quietly, still tense with rage. "We guard the way."

"Yronwood words."


	3. Liquid Ember

**Chapter 3: Liquid Ember**

(274 A.L.)

It was winter in Westeros, but it seemed the cold itself couldn't pass the Narrow Sea. Only the scent of it could be felt on the breeze, a longer, cooling wind that managed to travel over the waters. A barely there smell of snows and storms. It was foreign to the people of Essos where the sun was stronger as if their god had stolen it from the Seven so it could shine upon his followers. Every night, he heard the prayers, for the light of the Red God around the large fires to protect them from the darkness and its terrors. Oberyn was not a godly man, but at first watched with curiosity of what power they wished to gather from a divinity without a face. The concept seemed rather tiresome to him, praying to an entity they never saw, never spoke to, but who received their prayers and offerings.

He would like to see how their god protected them from the wars in the Disputed Lands. How will he stop an arrow from piercing through their chest or a blade cutting their throat? Each man who survived was thought to be protected. Each man who died was believed to be needed in his Red Temple in the world beyond. Be it life or death, it was a blessing. He saw it to be false. Gods did not care about the affairs of men. They did not weep when they lost a child, a mother, a father or a brother and they did not celebrate their victories and triumphs, did not commend their happiness and joy. No. If they were there, the gods simply watched, like a world tourney for their entertainment. Did they place bets on who will fall and who will rise? Did they mock the good and allowed them to suffer under the actions of others? Those were the gods he could believe in.

It was the only possibility as he watched Ila struggle in sickness, her body prone upon her own bed, dark skin covered in beads of warm sweat and the shallowest of breaths barely leaving her to show life still lingered within the stillness. His dark eyes stood on her form as Maester Lutor covered her brow with a clean cloth drenched in cold water. "How much longer will she last like this?" It had only been a few days, but it was alarming for such a strong woman to fall so quickly and so hard.

The old man stood silent to the question, but Oberyn saw the shadow of doubt across his face. The light from the candles strewn about the captain's quarters reflected in his grey eyes. "I do not know. Mixes of warlocks are yet foreign to me. I have not been east of the Narrow Sea since before you were born and I have studied little of their trade. Magic is a waste of study, disappeared from the world. Understanding the manner in which those who pretend to wield it work has never breached my interest." An apologetic note rang through his voice.

"Then set magic aside. What can you do for her?"

"The House of the Red Hands only trains us to heal and treat. A cure for such a thing rarely passes through our sight." The man had served with the house of healing priests in Braavos yet failed to offer a pleasing answer to the matter.

"So you know nothing of it."

"I know nothing of how to cure it. Her muscles are paralyzed, yet her mind is possible to still respond."

"That is of no comfort."

"Do you seek comfort or truth?"

"I seek fucking answers!" His dark, viper eyes narrowed to the much older man with impatience burning in his stare. "Yet you provide me little." He stood up from his seat and left Ila's quarters, along with her barely living body and the old man tending to her. Uselessness tasted bitter on his tongue, like venom to be spitted out before it coursed and corrupted. He stepped on deck and turned his gaze on the bulky guard always there to shadow his moves. This time, he took the man with him willingly though Gilas was of no enjoyable company for most of the times. He was a gruff man, with a serious demeanor, intent dark eyes and olive skin. "I need to clear my mind. A drink and a whore should serve that purpose."

"Perhaps if you stop bedding, you will see beyond the skirts of women." the older man said with disapproval in his tone.

"Perhaps if you start, I will have less dull lectures."

"We are far removed from our purpose here."

"What is our purpose here?!" The Red Viper's eyes glowed of danger even in the darkness of the night that had fallen upon Lys. "We have none, only distance from home is our goal and I'll see to it that I do what I please with my punishment. If I wish to leave in search for a warlock, I will do so regardless of your protests. You are here to protect me, not command me, Ser Gilas." He stepped toward the plank separating the _Feathered Kiss_ from the grounds of Lys. "If you only provide ill companionship and disapproving stares, I would sooner lack it. At the moment I want for better company."

Gilas' features turned into the familiar frown, so often on his face that it seemed a constant reaction to the world around him, but followed after the son of Dorne nonetheless. "I am here to protect your life, not entertain you."

"In that case, Seven save me should I die of boredom."

They walked across the streets of the city, as full of life at night as it was during the day. The company differed, however, sailors from all across the known world now absent in favor of brothels and wine. Easily recognized Lysene replaced them with their bright blue eyes and blond hair, clad in various colors enlightened by the fires sparked along the docks. The chanting of Red Priests was a near constant song in the air, gathered around the flames in their trademark robes. Oberyn often thought they ought to be more blessed than they were now by their god. Few in Westeros prayed to their Gods and lit fires in their homage every single night. His guess was that what they were doing so vigorously and fanatically was not working.

_The Shivering Harpy_ rang with boisterous laughter and drunken songs half yelled by its patrons, young and scantily clad young women waving from the balconies above with their sultry smiles and captivating curves. The two Dornishmen stepped through the door to the smell of spiced wine mixed with exotic perfumes of the Lysene, the flagrance pungent in the air. They almost looked out of place with their sun-kissed skin and dark hair, Ser Gilas dressed in armor as if prepped for battle.

"Somehow, I don't see warlocks spending their time in brothels." the gruff man remarked as they took two empty seats next to a drunken man already deep in his drinks and with am auburn-haired woman sitting on his lap. Oberyn ignored the comment and requested wine for both of them, in silent hope that perhaps the liquor would enliven the man's company.

"Magic is dead and has been for a hundred years. They are now nothing but common with a few tricks up their sleeves read from dusty old books and colored water in fancy bottles. Are you per chance afraid?" the Red Viper asked with a devious curl around the edges of his lips.

"Cease your mockery! It's their existence I doubt. Swords cut through silken robes and petty scams, enough to loosen tongues when needed." His eyes looked up as the two cups of wine were brought, the coin exchanged. It tasted mildly sweet but pleasing to their taste.

"My lords, you speak Common Tongue. Dornish by the drawl in your tone, I wager. Sailors for Westeros?" The dark haired man, red faced and drunk as a dwarf on his wedding day looked at them. He did not possess a face one could call comely, but his build was strong and fit like a man who had seen his share of battles even at his youth.

"Mind your own matters, boy." Ser Gilas was quick to respond.

"It's been long since I've heard the sound of my home. Let me buy you a drink. A cup of Liquid Ember for both my companions and another for me!" His voice was slurred but shouted nonetheless. "No fire has ever burned to brightly upon your tongue until you've tasted it, I promise you."

"You're from Westeros, I take it." Oberyn's dark eyes stood on the man as he spoke, knowing the answer before it even came.

"Aye. I've tasted the sweet nectar of Dornish wine, but my blood is cold with snows of the North." Nostalgia touched the man's voice, but it didn't stay for long with the warmth in his veins given by the cup in his hand and nearly bare woman on his lap.

"Seems you are even further removed from home." the second son of Dorne remarked.

"Coin brought me the Free Cities and their lack kept me here for a long time. My sword is for hire if you pay."

"We do not need more swords." Ser Gilas said with that same frown on his face.

The Red Viper's eyes did not move from the man. "But experience might be what we seek. Are there warlocks in this city?"

"Warlocks and more. Much more. Nothing is truly what it seems in Lys." The man would've continued but three drinks were set in front of them. Oberyn looked at the red liquid within the cup, steam rising up from its depths and hot to the touch. The Northerner pushed the woman off his lap and grabbed one of the drinks, holding it up.

"Here's to Tregar Ormollen, prince of merchants, and Lynesse Hightower, the whore of silk and gold!" He downed the red liquid in one gulp. Oberyn said nothing but glanced at Ser Gilas, preferring to keep silence and find more than they offered. The hot drink burned down his throat as he swallowed, fire in itself dripping into him. It was what having a heated blade must've felt when shoved down his throat. He breathed out with a cough, but Ser Gilas seemed unmoved by the drink's strength, his stance as strong as ever.

"Where might we find warlocks?" The older man in nearly full armor asked. Oberyn could tell by his voice that he lacked patience for indulging in such vices.

"That, I cannot say. An untrustworthy bunch, claiming they wield magic like Aerys himself breathes fire! But I can sell my services and perhaps aid you in finding them."

"Nonsense."

"Don't be so quick to decide, Ser Gilas." Oberyn interject when the heat in his throat had simmered down. "Perhaps this man does know more about the city than we even need."

"You would pay him for answers?! Perhaps I should quicker rip the words from his lips!" he said and stood in quick anger and impatience.

The other man stood as well, sensing the threat. "You should test that theory if not careful with your words, Dornish!" The two glared at each other, Ser Gilas with fury in his eyes and the Northerner with a cold, steel gaze, now broken from drunken stupor. It lasted little when the man turned, folded over, heaved and spilled back down all the drinks he had poured into him for the night. The stench made Oberyn's face wrinkle but the older guard did not move from his position.

"From the looks of it, you lack options for better coin. We will pay, but do not expect a Lannister's fortune." The Red Viper said to Ser Gilas' disgust. He did not approve of the man, that much he could see.

"Have you lost sense?!"

"No. But your plan of not drawing attention to ourselves is not working, is it?" Oberyn remarked as he looked at the taller guard with a perk of his eyebrow. Dark eyes stood on the man until he could see the hint of relent on his features and then he turned his sharp gaze on the Northerner barely holding himself on his legs. "What's your name?"

"Ser Jorah Mormont."


End file.
